


Ew, feelings.

by Nerd_of_Camelot



Series: SladeRobin Week 2020 [6]
Category: DCU
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Gen, Implied Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson - Freeform, Implied Relationships, Short, Sort Of, Swearing, Tight Spaces, Tim Drake Swearing, Trapped, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27324031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_of_Camelot/pseuds/Nerd_of_Camelot
Summary: Day 6: Trapped Together |Family Intervention|Earth-3/Evil BatsThis was not ideal.Scratch that―this was so far from ideal that he wanted, legitimately, to pull his hair right out of his head one at a time.
Relationships: Damian Wayne & Slade Wilson, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Slade Wilson
Series: SladeRobin Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964563
Comments: 3
Kudos: 77
Collections: SladeRobin Week 2020





	Ew, feelings.

**Author's Note:**

> bare with me, only my second time writing from Damian's point of view - but i think i did pretty okay, lol
> 
> no romance in this one, although of course (as the tags say) there's some implied Sladick. i thought it was about time i did some Damian, Tim, and Slade!

This was not ideal.

Scratch that―this was so far from ideal that he wanted, legitimately, to pull his hair right out of his head one at a time.

It would certainly be more pleasant than  _ this. _

Now, perhaps that was unfair to the people currently sharing his air and his personal space, but he found it difficult to care.

He fought a huff, looking around  _ again _ for a way out. There was, of course, nothing, but that didn’t stop him. An exercise in futility was an exercise nonetheless.

“No signal,” Said Drake from off to his left, where he’d managed to climb to the highest section of their very small prison, hanging by one hand from the too-small air vent and squinting in irritation at his phone, “And I can’t see anything through the crack in the ceiling―pitch black out there.”

“What a fine mess.” Snorted Deathstroke, on his right, and he really seemed the most put-together about it.

Damian was not surprised―he expected nothing less of someone of Deathstroke’s stature. However, he  _ was _ annoyed by it. How dare he be unaffected. How  _ dare _ he.

Ugh.

He struggled not to pout like a child, ignoring Dick’s voice in the back of his head reminding him gently that he  _ was _ a child because this was not the time nor the place to allow Dick’s gentleness to lull him into a false sense of security, and gritted his teeth instead.

“So there is no way out,” He surmised, ignoring Deathstroke for the time being, “And the only thing preventing me from killing you is my lack of weapons. Lovely.”

Above him and to the left, Drake snorted―utterly unimpressed, “If you  _ really _ wanted to you’d find a way. You don’t need a weapon to strangle me, for instance.”

“And if you’re in any great need of weapons, I do possess a few.”

“Dick would tear your arms off if you helped Damian kill me,” Drake dropped down, barely even wincing despite the thump and the way it had clearly hurt as he didn’t have the room to roll and properly redistribute the force of the landing, “And, again―” He turned to Damian, poking him in the nose much to his annoyance, “If you  _ really _ wanted to, you’d find a way without them.”

“Strangling you to death is beneath me.” Damian sniped, and he could  _ feel _ Drake rolling his eyes in response, “... And Grayson would be upset with me if I went against his wishes to get rid of you.”

“Well, at least you care about him,” Drake didn’t sound particularly bothered, “And what he thinks. There may be hope for you after all, demon brat.”

“On second thought, I think strangling you to death is a good idea.” He deadpanned.

“You’re too short to manage.” Drake deadpanned right back.

“You’ve sunk low enough for me to reach.”

“Boys.”

Deathstroke had a voice much like father’s in that it was incredibly strong and commanding. Damian felt himself go tense at the word alone, and at least he could see he was not alone, as Drake had gone stiff as a board. They looked to Deathstroke.

Even with the mask, Damian could feel the neutral frown of disapproval―it felt much the same from Deathstroke as it did from Dick.

“Let’s not waste our time and oxygen.” Deathstroke sounded calm, but…

He fought a shudder.

“We’re not exactly short on either.”

That Drake was able to sass Deathstroke to his face despite having become a statue at the slightest hint of annoyance from him was… Almost admirable.

A lot of things about him were―not that Damian would ever admit it out loud.

“Sit down,” Said Deathstroke, and it was a command Damian almost didn’t manage to ignore.

But he fought it nonetheless, and remained standing, as did Drake.

“Your brother will no doubt be here soon.” Deathstroke continued, “And there is no point in standing here arguing. Sit, and shut up.”

Damian found himself scowling, and Drake was too, a little.

But, with a deep breath and an obvious attempt to rein himself in, Drake blew the breath back out and sat down. He was still scowling. And before Damian could open his mouth, Drake was doing so.

“I don’t like you,” He said, very calmly, “And I don’t know how Dick puts up with you. Probably the same reason he puts up with Bruce, honestly. I’ll sit down, because there isn’t any point in standing if I don’t  _ have to, _ but if you think I’m going to shut up just because you told me to you’ve got another thing coming.” Turning up his nose a little in that snobby rich kid way that Damian saw only very rarely from him, Drake continued with an annoyed and very clipped, “Fuck you.”

A surge of respect hit Damian, and he glanced between Drake and Deathstroke for a moment. Deathstroke said nothing in response to that for most of that moment.

And then, finally, “You certainly take after him in that aspect.” He snorted, “None of you take orders very well, do you?”

“Sure don’t,” Replied Drake, fake-cheerful, “Now why don’t  _ you  _ sit?”

Damian looked between them another moment.

And, finally…

He sat down.

With an amused huff, Deathstroke did as well.

Damian felt… Oddly respectful of both of them, to be frank. And he wasn’t sure he liked it. It felt… Warm. And he wasn’t fond of that.

And, however long afterwards, if he woke to being lifted into Dick’s arms while Deathstroke lifted Tim, and if he’d fallen asleep laid up against Tim’s side with Deathstroke’s hand on his head, well… He just wouldn’t acknowledge it. It definitely had not happened.

Even if he was definitely a little more respectful of Tim in the future, and realized much, much later that he’d stopped calling him Drake in his head that day.


End file.
